


spell it out

by wisteria (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, also sort of angsty, there is an astounding amount of dialogue in this and I’m not proud of that fact, this is pre-slash until later on fyi!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were excited.”</p>
<p>Steve shrugged and smiled. “Never gone into a shitstorm before.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	spell it out

Tony got a text from Clint about thirty seconds before he heard the footsteps clobbering down the stairs. It read: “ **gonna miss u, caps out for blood”** and Tony knew from the text that he was totally and utterly fucked, because this was going to be an argument, and if Steve was coming all the way down to the workshop it was going to be a yelly one.

“Were you _serious_ back there?” Steve said, through the goddamn glass, too, anger swarming around him like a pack of wasps. “How many times are you going to directly disobey my orders, Stark?”

“Oh, pulling out the last names, this is serious.” Tony—perhaps against his better judgment—opened the door so he could come in. “Alright, lay it on, let’s go, let’s argue.” He kept his tone light, because two tones as heavy as Steve’s would probably bring the house to its knees.

Steve’s jaw was clenched and his fingers were tucked neatly in fists, and they hung stilled at his sides. “You could’ve gotten tons of civilians hurt, Tony.”

“But they’re fine,” Tony started, because seriously, the stick must be so far up his ass that he’s hurling up bark. “They’re fine and the building is fine and everyone’s breathing! Yay for Iron Man!”

“You had no idea if that was going to work, and you know it!”

“It did work, Cap, that’s what you’re missing. It worked. I knew it had to work, it had to work.”

“What if it didn’t, huh?” He crossed his arms now, eyebrows nearly at risk of becoming one.

Tony snorted, but the anger was rising up in him like a snake, slowly, slowly. “ _It did_. You’re just pissed because my plan worked and yours was going to fail.”

“I’m just ‘pissed’ because you openly ignored me and went along with your own idea!  You can’t just do that every mission, Tony, that’s not how it works. I get it, we get it, you’re smart and you’re Iron Man but that doesn’t mean you can blatantly disregard your leader’s orders!” Steve’s level of frustration, Tony noticed, was just about to boil over.

Time to add the salt to the hot water, Tony thought. “Your orders were going to fail. They’re outdated. You’re not ready to deal with all of this shit like I am, I’ve breathed it, _Cap_ , and you haven’t. Plain and simple, you’re more prepared for an ice age than anything else.”

Tony instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say right after he said it; his brain-to-mouth filter can be a little delayed, he’s noticed. He expected one hell of an insult from Steve, shit, maybe even a punch or something, but Steve’s face fell. It was like the wrinkles and lines on his face had been wiped smooth by a sculptor, and his shoulders sagged and his fingers uncoiled.

“Perhaps you’re right,” He said, slowly, and his tone was so empty that Tony flinched. “It’s nice to have that reaffirmed by someone else.”

He backed away, eyes never breaking contact, and then he turned and climbed the stairs slowly.

_He’ll be fine in a bit_ , Tony told himself, but only because it helped keep his hands steady.

Clint came down a few hours later (or was it a few days later?—Tony lost track), fidgeting with his bow and a few arrows. “Hey, Tony, lemmie in man.”

Tony shrugged and obliged. “Something up with your equipment?”

“Uh, no.” Clint smiled weakly and slung it over his shoulders. “Listen though, I think we need to talk. And I mean, shit, okay, I’m really bad at this but the team made me do it, so, bear with me here.”

“What’s this about?” Tony asked, but he knew.

Clint popped over to a stool and sat on it, shrugging his shoulders. “So, normally I’d stay out of your arguments with Steve. That’s a whole mess of shit I don’t want to get into, and the team feels the same way. But… look, whatever you guys fought about or whatever you said or whatever, well,”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever it was, he’s been a bit different?” Clint pursed his lips, as if he didn’t know how to explain it. “He’s kind of just been ghosting around. I’m pretty sure he spent the entire night in the gym—also, by the way, we need some new punching bags just FYI—and then went back to his room as soon as day broke. Not gonna lie, it’s actually super fucking creepy.”

Tony scratched his head because, for once, he didn’t exactly know what to say.

“It’s not like I’m saying you’re wrong or that you need to apologize,” Clint started, standing up, “I’m just saying that maybe it’s time for you guys to stop this shit. We thought it’d end after the whole Loki thing, but you guys kept it up, and everyone else agrees that sometimes… You guys just like stabbing old wounds.”

Tony pondered, for a moment, if that was the most poetic thing Clint has ever said. It had to be. And then Clint nodded, took the stairs two at a time, and shouted at Tony to “eat something for fuck’s sake”.

Then it sort of settled in his stomach that he had probably stuck his thumb in Steve’s widest, freshest wound and twisted; he looked down at his thumb and, for a moment, thought it was covered in a thick, red, ropey liquid. It wasn’t, he discovered upon touch, but he felt sick.

Tony hated feeling guilty, and he decided the best way to deal with it was to sleep it off.

Of course it didn’t work, but you have to commend one of the world’s greatest geniuses for trying.

*****

Later, after an eight hour nap on the workshop couch, he went upstairs to get something to eat. He wasn’t at all surprised that Clint—who was baking something or other—wouldn’t meet his eyes, or that Bruce was shooting him a really weird look, or that Natasha crossed her arms and let her lids do the talking.

“Hey, I’ll eat and then apologize, geez,” He said, waving off their watches.

It was, of course, Tony’s luck that Steve walked in just then. His eyes flicked to every person in the room, and then to the door, and then to Tony again. “I’m going for a run,” He said slowly, again checking everyone in the room, “I’ll be back later.”

“See you, Steve,” Bruce said, accompanied by Natasha’s “Don’t get into too much justice, Steve.” And then he was out and not even thirty seconds later you could see him running down the street from the window.

Clint turned from the bowl he had been mixing. “I’m not even shitting you guys, that’s like the fifth run he’s been on today. I’ve been here all day and he kept leaving and coming back, honestly.”

“He seems to exercise when he’s upset,” Bruce said, pointedly turning his gaze to Tony; there was a small smile on his lips. “Kind of like how you lock yourself in the workshop for hours upon hours.”

Tony narrowed his eyes.

“Hey!” Bruce said, throwing his arms up in mock-surrender, “It was only an observation.”

“A true observation,” A voice chimed from the doorway. Tony flinched, but only because he couldn’t help it. “I might add.”

Tony turned slowly, and acted, because he was good at that. (He decided to ignore that Pepper could always see through his acting, though.) “Didn’t know you were coming by. Florida boring you, Pep?”

There was a quirk on her lips and Tony pretended it didn’t twist his stomach.

“There’re a lot of important meetings tomorrow, and I know better than to leave you as the only one to take care of them.”

“Ouch,” Clint said, twice, because Natasha jabbed him after the first.

*****

Tony debated huddling himself in the workshop—for that was the best way to avoid his problems—but he decided to be at least _somewhat_ adultish and to stay up in the living room with Pepper. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce had all gone their separate ways and Tony was only slightly thankful for that. It’d been over an hour and Steve still hadn’t returned, but Tony knew he could run for a long time, and he surely would.

Pepper had been talking for a long time and Tony felt bad for zoning out so frequently, but there was a lot on his mind; her voice fluttered and drifted and clipped in and out and in and out, and he’d nod occasionally. Tony wasn’t sure if Pepper cared that he wasn’t paying attention, but he also wasn’t sure that she could tell. Then again, Pepper knew everything.

“Tony,” She said, for the sixth time, “What’s bugging you?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

Pepper raised a brow. “Bullshit.”

Steve walked in just then, and Tony would’ve taken great satisfaction in his expression if he wasn’t angry with him. “Am I…?” He moved his hands in a weird circling motion, completing his sentence.

And then Pepper looked at Tony, and then Steve, and Tony again and her face contorted lightly. “No, I was just going to go talk to Natasha. You two, however, should talk.” Her voice was stern and she stood nearly immediately.

“Uh,” Steve said, rubbing his shoulder with his hand, “Okay.”

Steve awkwardly took the seat farthest from Tony and Pepper was gone in a blink. Tony was rubbing his wrists sluggishly, debating on whether to apologize or let Steve yell at him first.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, this time staring Tony down, not breaking eye contact. His face held more earnest than Tony thought was humanly possible, and he suddenly felt so small and so cruel he wanted to shrivel up.

Tony was taken aback more than he should’ve been. “Uh, that’s my line, Cap.”

“No,” Steve cut in, voice stern, “I yell at you too much—and—you’re right, partially. A lot of my tactics are outdated.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t work.” Tony drawled, nearly hesitant to continue, “Look, the comment I made about you was offhanded. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve looked away now. “Yeah. It’s alright, you just—hit a soft spot, you know?”

Tony nodded, pausing, “I think we should cut it with this shit, to paraphrase Clint.”

Steve shook his head ‘yes’ and stood up, walking over to Tony and extending his hand. “Can-do, Tony. Let’s just… Work harder on working together?”

“Sounds good, Steve.” They shook hands and lingered a bit in awkwardness before Steve shuffled off to take a shower.

Clint poked his head around the corner. “That went way better than expected. I was waiting for one of you to throw a punch or something.”

“Glad you could watch, Clint,” Steve said from behind him, and damn, if Tony wasn’t impressed by that then he wasn’t impressed by anything. Clint shot a death glare and fled to the kitchen, and Tony gave Steve a thumbs up. He smiled, all toothy and wide before turning down towards his room again.

Tony figured it wouldn’t be terrible to not hate Steve, but he knew it wouldn’t come easy; they were too different, blah blah he’s from the forties blah Tony’s from the now blah, blah—he’s heard it all before because he’s thought about it all before.

There was a time, somewhere after the Loki ordeal and before now that Tony thought they could be really good friends. You know, the works; watching movies and going to sports events and drinking (even though Steve couldn’t get drunk, what a shame), and everything, double dates, whatever. And then they argued more and it just faded out of Tony’s mind, like a lot of things seemed to, and then everything kind of crashed and their arguments became more and more heated. Multiple times Tony’d offer to spar with him to get the tension out, but Steve would always decline (unless Tony was clad in the suit), as if he was afraid of hurting Tony, of breaking him like a doll.

It made Tony angry for two reasons: he probably would get hurt and Steve didn’t want to hurt him. Tony wasn’t proud to think that if he had been a super soldier and Steve a normal guy—or Iron Man—that he wouldn’t have fret to duke it out.

Then Tony’s not so sure, because what can you do with all of that extra strength? He’s seen Steve break little trinkets and even a glass or two before; his thumb once went through the remote, and even if Tony admits to laughing he did feel sort of bad, in a weird way. Steve has to control his strength at any given time, all the time, every moment.

Tony jumped when the siren sounded, and when Natasha burst in already completely decked in her suit. Clint soon followed her, and then Steve, with his hair still wet. They were all outside and ready when Tony flew in, faceplate still up.

“So what’s the deal here?”

“Uh,” Clint said, raising a brow and then pointing towards the skyline, “I think that’s what’s up.”

And he was pointing to what _looked_ to be a vortex, but may as well be Satan’s asshole. “Son of a bitch,” Tony said, huffing, “What did we do to deserve this?”

They all shrugged in unison and then got notification of a helicopter that S.H.I.E.L.D. was sending over. “Well, screw that,” Tony said, revving up his boots, “I’m going.”

Steve stepped over now, brows furrowed. “You’re not going alone.”

Tony flipped the faceplate down and extended his arm. “Let’s tango.”

Steve’s face was unreadable for all of half a second before he put on his Captain America face and stepped on.

“Hold on tight, we’re going in.”

Clint’s snickers sounded like crackles on the communicator, but they both ignored it. They reached the sight soon enough and it was certainly something to behold: it was a thick, swirling mass, like bruised thunderclouds. Oh, yeah, and it was sucking things up, it was sucking metal things up.

“Huh. Shit. Well, okay. Fuck, it just sucked up six cars. Okay. Alright.”

“How the hell are we supposed to fight this?”

Tony shrugged, lowering them both to the ground. “I’d say shoot it, but it seems that those agents have tried that already.” His gaze shifted towards the forty-or-so agents that were all holding pistols, just shooting at it as if they had nothing better to do. They probably didn’t, really; giant, supermassive metal-sucking cloud was sort of at the top of their lists.

“I think someone needs to go in,” Steve said slowly, looking at Tony, “—I’ll go in.”

“That’s literally the stupidest idea. We’re not just going to throw you in the damn blob!” Tony threw his hands up and pointed at it, exaggerating his cause.

Steve rubbed his hand on his face. “Then what should we do?”

Tony turned and stared at it for a good while, pausing to notice how the cars and things just drifted up there, as if they were being called by a higher power. Robot Jesus or something, Tony thought. “Okay, we’ll both go in. The rest of the team can be here and we probably maybe won’t lose communication with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I think this is not going to end well,” He said, pursing his lips and rocking on his heels, “but, hey, let’s go.”

“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were excited.”

Steve shrugged and smiled. “Never gone into a shitstorm before.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, another multi-chaptered thing, how scandalous. I just wanted to have something that was slightly more serious, if anything. 
> 
> School's starting soon though, so I think updates will be more sporadic. Apologies!  
> (Also, the desire to name this story "Satan's Asshole" was overwhelming, but I figured it'd be slightly off-putting.)


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